Of Legends, Martyrs, and Immortality
by The Knave of Northland
Summary: "These victors will only fuel the rebels' fires, dead and alive. Even after they've been engulfed in flames and reduced to a pile of ashes, they will remain legendary." Won second place in Starvation's January one-shot challenge. Prompt: Legendary. Rated M for violence.


**This was written for Starvation's January one-shot competition. Prompt: "Legendary."**

**I guess you could say that this is a slight sequel to "The Last Dead Flower" because a few of the characters in it are mentioned in here; though it isn't really a continuation since you don't need to read it first.**

**I actually scared myself a little writing this, it's honestly the darkest piece I've ever written.**

* * *

Once upon a time, they were legends.

Brutus Gunn, stronger than an ox and more ruthless than a swarm of tracker jackers. Wiress Thatch, famous for her intuition and intelligence. Mags Wake, able to survive and adapt to the most adverse environments. Aurora Gray, master of camouflage and stealth. Blight Redson, an expert on nature and animals…including mutts. Woof Spool, the fastest runner ever seen in Panem. Chaff Spire, able to kill two enemies with only one arm.

And now they're corpses.

Brutus was stabbed in the heart. Wiress' throat was slit. Mags was poisoned by fog. Aurora's chest was ripped open by monkey mutts. Blight was electrocuted by a force-field. Woof's skull was cracked. Chaff's neck was snapped.

No matter how legendary you are, you aren't immune to death. Immortality is a lie, and nobody can ever achieve it, not even me. And now, more victors will join them; they're names have already been sent out and the peacekeepers should be bringing them in shortly. They're rebels, and they dared to threaten my country.

"Mister President, we have Tansy Frost in Cell 049," Aeliana, my assistant, says.

"Good. Ask if she knows anything about the revolt in District 6."

"She'll never tell if she does, sir."

"Then force it out of her."

"Yes, sir."

She walks away to deliver my news to the peacekeepers in charge of my prisoners. Every hero has a weakness, and all we have to do is find it. Every bird will sing if you force them in the correct manner. And I intend to do every step of this plan correctly. Failure has no place, and that means not falling into the hands of those rebels. Though the words "fairy tale" are childish, I intend to make mine happen, and these victors' interfere with it.

I pick up my lists again and put a star next to Lyme's name. She's one of the top victors to arrest. Oh, I'll be snatching the rest of them, but she certainly knows something of the plot against me. "Sir?" I turn my swivel chair to the right and see Emil Waters, my Head of Communications, standing in the doorway.

"Yes, Emil?"

"Sir, these victors, are you sure that they're all rebels?"

"Why do you ask that?" I reply in a voice that hides my irritation.

"Well…we have the victors from District 8 all locked up, and they aren't revealing anything, are you sure they're allied with the rebels?"

Why did I appoint someone like Emil to this position? "Emil, I don't believe you understand why this is so important. Have you ever seen a wolf?"

"I've seen pictures, sir; why do you ask?"

"These victors, these rebels, are like wolves. One alone cannot take down an animal by itself unless it is small. But a pack, they're capable of bringing an animal twice their size to its knees. Who knows what they're planning? I hope you understand."

"I understand, sir."

"Good. Now, do you know anything about District 11's victors yet?"

"The peacekeepers are planning their arrests tonight."

In fairy tales the main character always has to overcome some type of obstacle, whether they're fighting a witch or giant, or trying to make the prince or princess fall in love with them. I know what my struggle is: destroy any opposition. It is, after all, the only way to ensure that Panem is safe. And I'll do anything to keep it safe from those rebels.

* * *

It feels like it all happened in a fantasy land. The wealth, my beauty, my fame, everything was wonderful; except for the memories that occasionally haunted me, though I learned to ignore them. Now everything is gone, I've been brought back to reality. Crop Tanner was the first to go; then the peacekeepers came in the night and arrested all of us in the Victor's Village. "Don't you know who I am?" I gasped as they raided my home.

"I know exactly who you are: the legendary Briar Brackendale, victor of the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games," the peacekeeper sneered.

"What are you doing?"

"Simply following the Capitol's orders."

That was when everything went black. Now I've sat in this dark cell for a week, gradually becoming covered in bruises. I want to go home to the orchards and fields of District 11. But what if it's suffered the same fate as District 12? A large-scale revolt was brewing and with the arrest of all the victors, the scales could be tipped.

I huddle in the corner, shaking, trying to erase all that I've seen and heard; so many victors crying out in banshee-like screams, so many of them shaking with fear or covered in blood and bruises. The dull gray of the walls and flickering light overhead doesn't seem like anything I would ever see in the Capitol, which honestly scares me. The sickening pain in my bones keeps bringing tears to my eyes and I choke them back. There's no doubt that they've installed a security-camera and are watching my every move, so looking weak is out of the question. Is this what it feels like when you're dying?

I should have done more to help people who felt like this in District 11. The poor people, I began ignoring after I won…after I became cold. Hiding in that fancy house, ignoring their cries and groaning stomachs, they were nothing to me. Now I'm locked up in a cell, being interrogated every day and beaten when I answer wrong. Those people I forgot about, they're better off than me now. And what breaks my heart is that they looked up to me, I was their hero, their legend. I beat twenty-three other competitors and made it home for them. They don't know that I came to consider myself superior, that I detested going to their part of the district. I didn't ally myself with the Capitol of course, they were the reason I had nightmares. But I allied myself with me and _only_ me.

I felt immortal, like I was a queen of my own imaginary country…but it was all a lie.

A small fragment of light appears on the floor and I look up to see that the door is cracked open. Two peacekeepers come in, carrying powerful looking guns. "Come with us," the tall one orders.

A whimper escapes my throat as I wish to disappear. The beatings get worse every time, and if I go back, they'll surely kill me. The short one roughly forces me to stand up and pulls me out the door. They want the little information I have about the imminent District 11 revolt that has or has not happened yet. Either way, they're not going to get it. I know now what I must do, and it will not end like a normal fairy story.

* * *

Somebody has to get the happily ever after, and it's going to be me. That's what I think to myself as the fifth interrogation of Briar Brackendale begins, and we're either going to squeeze out some information or break her. "Miss Brackendale, I would appreciate some concentration," I say to the haggard woman behind the glass.

She sits in a room, tied to a chair with four peacekeepers around her. Her dark hair sticks to her sickly looking skin and she breathes in gasps. "I-I d-don't know anything," she stammers, glancing to her right.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," she gulps, looking to the right again with her sunken in eyes.

What she is unaware of is that I know signs of lying. One does not become president without telling a few lies, and who is best at picking out a liar, another liar or a truth teller? And I know full well that looking to the right is common in liars. I don't think we'll be getting any information out of Briar this time. "Miss Brackendale, please don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying!"

"Then you're no longer useful. I'm sorry."

"No longer useful? What do you—,"

She's stops when the beatings begin and a howling scream rips from her throat that makes Aeliana shudder and turn away. I know that the other victors can hear her, and I hope they realize that this will be their fate if they keep hiding the truth from us. "Stop it, please!" The dying victor gasps as blood drips down her face, but the peacekeepers don't stop hitting her.

"Miss Brackendale, just because you are legendary does not mean that you are immortal," I shake my head at her.

As a peacekeeper is about to smash her skull, she gasps in a moment of stupid bravery, "Chaff, Aurora, Mags, they're all _martyrs_. And now I will be one, too. Legends_ never_ die!"

And then the sickening crunch of her skull being cracked reaches my ears. Aeliana shrieks in disgust. But what Briar said is right, as much as I hate with all my heart to admit. These victors will only fuel the rebels' fires, dead and alive. Even after they've been engulfed in flames and reduced to a pile of ashes, they will remain legendary.

But there's nothing I can do about that, I do know the limits of my power. Perhaps it wasn't once upon a time that they were legends, but they were legends ever after. Standing up from my chair, I say, "What a pity, that's the tenth victor. Come, Aeliana, we must see to the interrogation of Tansy Frost. Perhaps she'll speak this time."


End file.
